


Easter in a Picnic

by KibblerEars



Series: Daddy's Here [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Play, Daddy Kink, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Easter, Fluff, Little!Tony, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, daddy!Phil, hiding in my drafts and posting it anyway, it's also pretty OOC not going to lie so i'm sorry in advance, little!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7325392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KibblerEars/pseuds/KibblerEars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Easter wasn’t a thing Phil had ever really celebrated. They couldn’t afford to waste food or buy treats when he was a kid - his momma had barely made enough to feed them for a time, and even once they were better off, they weren’t in a position to buy much in the way of extraneous items. His momma also wasn’t overly religious. So, really, they hadn’t done much for Easter. </p><p>How does a Daddy explain that to his Easter-eager boys?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easter in a Picnic

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own! Oops if there are any and please let me know if you see one! Thanks!
> 
> Probably won't make sense if you didn't read the other two in the series but for a TL;DR version, Tony and Clint are littles to Phil's daddy in a non-sexual ageplay polyamorous relationship.
> 
> This was written for someone once upon a time and I kept forgetting to post it for them. But things happen, times change, and I lost my chance, for which I will forever regret. If you ever see this, I hope it brings a smile to your face. 
> 
> In the meantime, I leave it here for any and everyone to enjoy if they wish!

Easter wasn’t a thing Phil had ever really celebrated. They couldn’t afford to waste food or buy treats when he was a kid - his momma had barely made enough to feed them for a time, and even once they were better off, they weren’t in a position to buy much in the way of extraneous items. His momma also wasn’t overly religious. So, really, they hadn’t done much for Easter.

But what they had done had been a private little tradition of their own makings.

A tradition he wasn’t sure his precious little boys would enjoy, no matter how much he wanted to share it with them.

Sighing, Phil flipped the mid-sized basket closed again and nudged it into the back of his closet. He’d go pick up some more _traditional_ Easter-based things on his way home from work today. Eggs and dye and chocolates and such. Something bunny-based, or maybe cute duckies, or even dinosaurs - that would appease both of his boys for sure.

He eyed the now barely-visible basket once again, heart in his throat, and shook his head. His boys were expecting a proper Easter. Not...not the poor man’s imitation that he and his momma used to have together.

No matter how much he wanted to introduce them to it.

 

-0-

 

The problem with hiding things away in a closet, Phil knows from experience, is that you tend to think about those things more than you would if they weren’t hidden like a dirty secret. And the basket he had tucked away just a week ago is no different than anything else he’s ever tried to hide from himself.

Every spare second he has, his mind goes back to that damn wicker contraption and the memories inside it. Followed immediately by the conjured images of how Clint and Tony might react if he did bring them in on the silly tradition. Phil imagined everything from their bored looks of disinterest to overeager excitement to outright hatred and full blown tantrums - all the possible ways his boys might react if he approached them with that basket and asked if they wanted to try something different for Easter.

Yet, Phil had a sinking feeling that even if they both began to bounce in excitement at the idea, neither of them would enjoy it half as much as they would enjoy dying easter eggs and going for egg hunts.

So the damn basket would stay in the damn closet and Phil would be a grown man and put away his childhood traditions.

 

-0-

 

“Daddy!” Tony’s voice echoed in the entryway of Phil and Clint’s Stark Tower apartment, Phil’s only warning before the genius was wrapping himself around Phil and squeezing as hard as he could.

Chuckling, he held Tony close and kissed his temple, “and hello to you too, baby boy.”

Tony leaned back with that infectious broad grin Phil only got to see when Tony was safe within the walls of his and Clint’s apartment - god, what Phil would do to see that smile all the time - and bounced a little against Phil, “Clint was tellin’me ‘bout the E’ster Bunny, daddy! Is it true?”

His own smile dimmed a bit, he was sure, but Phil sucked in a breath to force his resolve as he gave Tony a slight nod, “well. Maybe you should tell me what Clint told you about the Easter Bunny before I say yes or not to that question. Who knows what little fibs your brother has been feeding you,” he teased, kissing the tip of Tony’s nose.

“I wouldn’t, daddy!” Clint protested from the end of the hallway, pout out in full force as he clutched his worn Mister Ducky to his chest.

Another laugh escaped him as he nudged Tony around, toeing his shoes off in the process, and walked them both down the short hall towards the still-pouting other boy.

“Clint didn’t say nuthin’bad, daddy, promise. He jus’said that the E’ster Bunny comes’n’brings us chocolate’n’hides eggs for us to find’n’we get to eat lots of mashed potatoes’n’turkey!”

Well. Phil couldn’t really say that was wrong given that was how a majority of the population celebrated the holiday. He was hardly the right person to be like “sorry, boys, but Easter is actually about how Christ started the zombie apocalypse” or however the story went.

“There will definitely be those things, yes,” Phil murmured, dragging Clint into a hug and kissing his pouting boy’s cheek. “Although Daddy’s never cooked a turkey of his own, so we may have quite the adventure on our hands.”

Tony clapped beside them as Clint beamed. They both loved kitchen adventures - and Phil loved indulging in those adventures, even when it got him covered in every substance known to humankind.

Laughing once again, Phil nudged the boys off into the apartment with a quiet request to tidy up their playroom and wash their hands while Phil got dinner ready. He watched them dart off to do as asked, cackling and playing as only his precious boys could. God, he loved his boys.

 

-0-

 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, lookit what I colored today,” Clint called out as he came racing into the kitchen, clutching the little sketchbook Phil had gotten for both his boys. It had both coloring pages and blank pages - allowing plenty of room for creativity and fun when the boys broke out the crayons and pencil crayons. Phil was mostly just happy neither of his boys seemed inclined to want markers; he could just imagine how easily that would turn into doodling on the wall. He shuddered at the thought - that was something he wouldn’t want to clean up at all.

He let the fridge swing closed as he turned to look at the book Clint was holding out to him, its pages open to a picture drawn in childish lines, but still clearly depicting a happy family. A stick man with a tie - clearly meant to be Phil - had his arms open wide and curled around what were clearly Clint and Tony, each smiling wide and holding hands with each other. They were in a field, under a bright yellow sun and a rainbow that was missing a couple colors but was no less beautiful.

“That’s very good, Hawk, darling,” Phil praised, kissing Clint’s cheek, running a finger over the crayon drawing, “is that you and Tony with Daddy?”

“Uh huh,” Clint beamed at the praise, “it's us at the park after you let us swing real high! That was awesome!”

Chuckling, Phil set the sketchbook on the counter and pulled Clint into another hug - this one didn’t last very long because soon Clint was squirming and trying to get away. He let him go with one last kiss to his cheek, fond smile crossing his face as Clint immediately turned around to pick up the sketchbook, holding it back out to Phil.

“Can we hang it on the fridge, Daddy, pleeeeease?”

“You know the rules, baby,” Phil raised an eyebrow at the younger man, whose face had immediately begun to transform into a pout. “No pouting, sweetheart. What’s the rule for art on the fridge?”

“Stuff only goes on the fridge if we all agree,” Clint dutifully parroted, voice dull and monotone now. His lower lip stuck out as soon as he was done, but Phil had gone through this routine before.

“Go get your brother and we can have a family vote.”

Clint shuffled off to find Tony without another word, and a part of Phil would always feel bad when he made his boys feel even the tiniest bit sad, but, a much larger part of Phil knew the importance of maintaining the rules he had laid out for his boys. The rule about art and other things on the fridge had been put in place when the boys had begun to fight over fridge door space, putting their pictures and such overtop of the others, and leading to a few too many tantrums than Phil cared to remember.  
So, unanimous agreement, or nothing on the fridge.

Even if the boys hated waiting for everyone to vote, it had certainly cut down on tantrums and made Phil’s hectic life just a bit easier. Not that they would admit it in their younger mindsets, but Phil knew it also made their lives easier because they were back to being best friends - most of the time - rather than sniping at each other every waking moment.

Hours later, when the picture is hanging proudly from the fridge, and Phil is watching Tony and Clint make the kitchen more of a mess in an attempt to clean it up, it’s still all he can do to forget about the basket haunting the back of his closet.

 

-0-

 

“But, Clint, we're not supposed to be...what'zat?”

The voice - Tony’s, soft and sweet as it is whenever Tony is little - is coming from the bedroom so it’s slightly muffled but Phil doesn’t really think anything of it as he closes his book and makes his way towards the bedroom. They aren’t talking to him but Phil is first and foremost a spy, he’s not above eavesdropping from time to time.

“It’s a...it’s a pic-i-nic basket!” Clint exclaims, following it with some clapping, if Phil’s ears are right. But Phil’s too busy listening to his blood starting to roar in his ears and feeling his stomach drop to his toes. Logically, he knows he hadn’t exactly hidden the basket _well_ , but the boys knew better than to snoop in his closet. Those were the rules - they each had their private spaces and while they didn’t keep secrets, per se (again, _spy_ ), that didn’t mean they could go around snooping and digging.

(Mostly Phil just didn’t want his suits getting wrinkled, but don’t tell anyone else that.)

“Find something fun?” Phil leans against the doorframe of his closet and putting on his best smile for the engineer and archer currently kneeling around his momma’s picnic basket. Tony and Clint’s heads whip up to stare at him in surprising unison and Phil’s pained smile becomes just a touch more real.

“Daddy, why’s there a pic-i-nic basket in your closet?” Tony asks while Clint fixes Phil with his best puppy dog gaze. Phil sighs and rolls up the sleeves of his navy sweater as he folds himself down criss-cross-applesauce in front of the basket.

Flipping both sides of it open, Phil pulls a worn sky blue fake leather-bound notebook out. He smiles down at it, running his fingers over the front where, written in fading marker, it says “Momma and Phil’s Special Memories.” It’s one of the few things he has left with his momma’s writing on it and one of his most treasured possessions.

“This basket used to belong to my momma,” he murmurs, just barely talking loud enough for Clint to hear him, “it was our Easter tradition.” He chances a glance at the other two men, just to find them watching him, quiet and intent. “We’d take this basket and make peanut butter’n’jelly sandwiches and lemonade,” he grins, mostly to himself, as he remembers how his momma would always cut the crust off - not because Phil didn’t like crust but because _she_ didn’t, “and if it was warm enough, we’d go to the park near our building. If it was still too cold, we’d build a blanket fort in the living room.”

Biting his lip, he looks at the notebook again, making a quick decision to flip it open to a random page, turning the book for the boys to see his momma’s writing. The date is printed clearly at the top - **April 14, 1974** \- followed by a list of items - a blue flower, a pine cone, a smile, among them - and finished with his momma’s deliciate signature and Phil’s ten-year-old attempt to copy her cursive.

“At the park, we’d go sit under this big tree and lay out our old blanket,” he gestures to the aged and well-loved checkered black and white blanket peeking out of the basket, “no matter where we were, momma would write up a scavenger hunt list for me - it’d be silly things, or nature things, or little fun tasks for us to do together. For every one we did or found, she’d give me a kiss or a hug, and when we finished, we’d sign our names,” he reaches down to run the tips of his fingers along his momma’s signature, “and write three things we were thankful for,” his fingers trail over to the ones his ten year old self had written - Momma and Captain America were one and two respectively. “Then we’d share our sandwiches and lemonade. To finish the day, momma would, every year, no matter how little we had, manage to get one candy bar for us to split. It wasn’t what the other kids did, I know...but it was what me and momma did. And this basket,” he closes the notebook and sighs again, “this basket has everything I have left of momma.”

“It’s a very special basket,” Tony whispers, awe clear in his voice, staring at the worn wicker before he crawls across the floor to Phil, resting a hand on Phil’s knee, “daddy, can we do a scavenger hunt this year?”

Clint perks up and suddenly he’s pressing himself up against Phil’s side too, “yeah, daddy, can we? Your momma sounds like lotsa fun’n’I wanna decorate eggs, but I wanna do a scavenger hunt too!”

“You...you boys would want to do that?” Phil really did luck out with these two in his life.

Their heads bounce up and down in one of the most enthusiastic nods he’s ever seen them give him and Phil can’t help but burst out laughing. Here he was, thinking he would have to give them the “traditional” Easter neither of them had ever had - and worrying that he wouldn’t be able to give it to them because he’d never had one himself - but here they were, surprising him by asking to do his traditions - and make their own as well.

“Okay,” he sucks in a sharp breath, beaming at his boys and opening up his arms, “I guess we have a lot of planning to do for Easter next week then!”

Tony and Clint’s cheers were practically deafening in Phil’s closet, but that didn’t stop Phil from laughing as they launched themselves at Phil in a fierce group hug that knocked him over so that all three were laying on the floor, arms and legs a happy, tangled mess.

Phil was never destined to have a normal life or family - he’d known that even when he was a boy - but the family he did have?

Oh, he wouldn’t change them for the world.


End file.
